


The Language of Bacon

by pretzelduck



Series: The My Kind of Crazy Stories [2]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Cuddling on a Dare, M/M, Mox and Darby are Soft, Romance, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27465682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretzelduck/pseuds/pretzelduck
Summary: Yesterday, Darby had no idea that he was going to wake up the next morning in Mox's bed and in his arms.  But this was today and while Mox was a terrible mattress, he was a pretty good pillow.  And he still had no intention of telling Mox how good of a kisser he was.  Darby was keeping that one to himself for as long as he could.*takes place the morning after the events ofMy Kind of Crazy*
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Darby Allin
Series: The My Kind of Crazy Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006701
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	The Language of Bacon

His bed was lumpy.

It was too early, he was too warm, and his bed was too lumpy.

Darby had slept in some odd and shitty places before but it had been a bit. These days, there was at least a mattress. But this one sucked. Not only was it lumpy but there was just enough of some strange vibration to keep him from falling back asleep. And it was extra annoying because of just how much his head and neck were throbbing. Must have done something to them yesterday. But he wasn't quite awake enough to remember what. All Darby knew was that between the pain and the weird mattress, he was not going back to sleep. He laid there for a second or two more, feeling uncomfortable and cranky, before bothering to open his eyes.

And that was Jon Moxley's face.

More specifically, he was lying on top of Jon Moxley and using him as a mattress. It explained the lumpiness, at least, but it didn't at all explain why he was sprawled across him like he was. Darby's head was even resting above Mox's heart, as if the beat of the thing was his favorite fucking lullaby. One of Mox's arms was draped across his back, just loosely enough to not be claustrophobic. But it was still too much. Too different and too affectionate.

It was easy enough to slowly slip out from under that arm and retreat to the other side of the bed. Just far enough to help him breathe. Darby felt a little bit like a creeper, lying there on his side and watching Mox sleep, but he didn't really want to get up quite yet. Enough of the morning fog had lifted for him to remember exactly why he was in this bed and the idea of not being there when Mox woke up felt… wrong. Not like a sense of obligation - he didn't owe Mox shit - or from refusing to be a coward and disappear in the middle of the night. This was something different. It was wanting to be right where he was when Mox's eyes opened. It was looking forward to seeing what happened next.

What had already happened between them seemed both fragile and significant all at the same time.

Kissing Mox had been impulsive and necessary. The only way to explain - to share - what he was feeling. Words weren't his strong suit; they too often felt cumbersome and wrong. Actions were the language he spoke. So Darby had kissed him. He hadn't known what to expect. He'd had a hope, buried and underacknowledged, but then Mox had surprised him with a kiss of his own. The gentleness, though? That was something he hadn't even known to want or hope for. It wasn't that he assumed Mox was nothing but violence. He wasn't an idiot.

But to have that much-hidden softness shown to him? For him?

It made him _feel_ like an idiot. A sappy, emotional idiot. But Mox had been right there with him and that was the only way it was bearable. That they had been in that weird bubble of tenderness together. He had done some risky shit (and would undoubtedly do more) but kissing the guy who had kicked his ass on multiple occasions had to be pretty high up there on his own personal list of dangerous ideas. When Mox had answered with a kiss of his own, though? It went from risky to right so fast it had made his head spin. 

And somehow each touch and taste hadn't made that spin worse. Instead, everything started to settle and calm as if there was a part of him that had been waiting a long time for that exact moment to happen. Which was ridiculous and crazy and against everything Darby thought he knew. That softness didn't feel crazy, though. Existing in that bubble of tenderness didn't seem that ridiculous, even now in the light of morning. What would everything feel like outside of this bed? Would it all cease to make sense the moment Mox opened his eyes?

_Something_ told him that it wouldn't and the little bit of hope buoyed by the little bit of faith were equally weird and foreign.

Mox was still sleeping and Darby was still staring. His eyes kept catching on different details. He knew exactly what that beard felt like scratching against his skin. He knew what it felt like to be cradled of all fucking things in those arms. There was part of him that was still furious with himself for letting Mox do that. That insisted he should have been kicking and fighting and forcing his way out of those arms instead relaxing in them. But Mox had looked so damn wretched. People didn't look at him like that. As if they felt his wounds on their skin. It had been too easy to smile and close his eyes. To stay right there in Mox's arms. It had been nice - he had even called it that out loud - and Darby could only admit that he liked it.

Like he could only admit that he liked Mox.

Darby watched him start to stir as that thought repeated itself over and over again. He didn't like people. They all pretty much sucked, for the most part. But he _liked_ Mox. He liked his ferocity and his protectiveness. His scowls and his smiles. And that very idea should be harder to reconcile than it was. They had fought last night and he had lost. But Mox had been adamant that his time was coming. That Darby would beat him someday and that surety about his future - in him - was something that Darby didn't even know how to begin to wrap his mind around. 

He'd been pissed at himself for letting an opportunity slip through his fingers yet again and had felt pathetic for sticking to Mox's side instead of taking off on his own. But then Mox had admitted he would still be there _when_ Darby beat him and Darby had realized that he actually believedMox would be. That he meant it.

Kissing him had been the only option. 

Still asleep, Mox rolled over so he was on his side facing him and Darby couldn't help but smile at how peaceful he looked. When he woke up yesterday, a gently smiling, sleeping Mox was definitely not what he thought he would be seeing the next morning. But there Mox was, one arm slightly stretched out and still-bandaged fingers flexing as if they were trying to touch something. Or searching for someone. Darby reached out before he realized he was doing it, stopping his hand just shy of brushing his fingers against Mox's. His hand hovered there for a moment - uncertain and curious - but Darby was oddly reluctant to actually make contact and pulled his hand back. He hated hesitation. It went against everything that mattered to him. But this _thing_ with Mox was so different that anything he had ever experienced. That weird bubble of tenderness that he was almost yearning to renew this morning seemed not quite real and far too real all at the same time.

Mox's arm kept extending out further inch by inch as formless amounts of time passed. Darby wasn't one to stay in bed; usually, he was up and gone shortly after waking up. But the closer Mox's hand got, the more he wanted to linger. It wasn't just that he wanted to still be there when those eyes opened. He wanted to reach out and take Mox's hand. Darby wanted that connection - that closeness. That gentle smile on Mox's sleeping face had shifted into a frown the further his arm traveled across the bed. The frown didn't look right. It was an expression that probably made more sense to be on Mox's oft-scowling face.

But it wasn't _right_.

Darby's fingers brushed along the side of Mox's hand - the motion more tentative than it probably should be, given how closely they had been pressed together the night before. He figured it wouldn't matter; a simple touch that would go unnoticed by anyone but him. But even in his sleep, Mox reacted. That searching hand wrapped around his and took hold. There was a weak but obvious tug as Mox tried to pull Darby closer as he slept.

"Darbs…"

Somehow, Mox's voice was gravelly yet soft and the very sound of it echoed in the space between them. But the fact that the single word uttered was his own name reverberated underneath Darby's skin. Even in his sleep, Mox was aware that it was Darby he was in bed with. That it was Darby's hand that he was holding. Something in his chest felt oddly tight while at the same time, he could feel the small smile forming on his own face. 

And that wasn't even getting into the fact that Mox had called him 'Darbs.' He had a vague memory of Mox doing the same the night before. Could hear it slide off his tongue as natural as natural could be. But people didn't usually refer to him in a manner like that. If anyone used a nickname or anything like it for him, it was something mocking or derisive. This… wasn't. This was something that he almost liked.

Another tug had Darby sliding a little bit closer of his own volition. He adjusted his hand just enough so that he could match Mox's hold. It was a strange sight - their joined hands resting on the sheet with Mox's once-again gently smiling face in the background. Moments passed as that face started to look restless and Darby wasn't surprised to see Mox's eyes blink open.

"Morning, Mox."

The words coming out of his own mouth surprised him, though. Or more precisely, the tone of them. His voice had been soft, affectionate, and easily revealed his almost eagerness to see Mox wake up. For a moment, Darby was tempted to pull his hand away, feeling far too exposed for his liking. That weird bubble of tenderness wasn't rebuilt - yet - and he could only feel uncomfortable about the warmth he felt as Mox became awake and aware.

"Hey…" Mox tugged once on their joined hands and Darby couldn't figure out exactly why he was doing it. They were both awake. "What are you doing over there?"

There really wasn't an answer that Darby wanted to give to that question. 'Watching you sleep' wasn't something he had any intention of saying nor did he really want to say 'holding your hand.' But Mox looked sleepily confused and it was actually fucking adorable.

"Breathing."

Darby knew he was being flippant but this was awkward. It was awkward in its not-awkwardness. Lying here, holding Mox's hand, starting the day like this. None of it felt as awkward as it probably should. It reminded Darby of how things were last night - how from the moment Mox had kissed him back, everything that should have been too much was simply just right. They had both called each other 'my kind of crazy' which seemed to still apply this morning because all his flippancy did was make Mox chuckle quietly.

"Little shit." Somehow, Mox said such a thing with fondness. "Why aren't you over here?" 

Darby's hand was pulled until his arm was stretched out and their joined hands were right next to Mox on the bed. He knew that he was the one to look confused now. Was Mox really asking why he wasn't cuddled up next to him? They had fallen asleep like that - Darby had even been the one to initiate it by spooning up behind Mox - but had he expected to wake up that way too? That was almost sweet and definitely disconcerting. 

"Because…" A dozen different excuses ran through Darby's head. "... I'm not."

That was pathetic.

Mox didn't look at all impressed, either. He kept Darby's hand close - almost pulled up against his chest - but the expression on his face was hard to read. Some odd mixture of disappointment and uncertainty, maybe? All Darby knew was those blue eyes made him start to regret how quickly he had scrambled away from Mox when he woke up. Mox probably would have liked waking up with Darby sprawled on top of him and that realization felt as sure and _right_ as kissing Mox last night had.

"Well…" There was a small smirk on Mox's lips and that probably didn't bode well for anything. "Then are you too chickenshit to come over here?" And that was a challenge in Mox's eyes now. "I dare you to come cuddle."

A dare? Was Mox crazy or was it simply that he - once again - was Darby's kind of crazy? The playfulness was something else he liked, though. It felt like he was being given both an opening and an excuse to fall back into that weird bubble of tenderness. That it was okay to embrace that yearning and affection. Mox _wanted_ him to. 

Which became even more apparent as Mox rolled onto his back with an almost too inviting smile on his face. He let go of Darby's hand only to spread both of his arms out slightly wide in obvious invitation. Those challenging eyes were looking directly into his but it was the hope in them that had Darby shuffling over to and curling up against Mox's side with only a little bit of an eye roll. Arms wrapped around him almost instantly - once again just on the right side of not too tightly. His head settled nearly where it had been when he woke up but this time he didn't look up at Mox. Darby kept his gaze on his own hand as the rhythm of Mox's chest caused it to go up and down as he breathed. It was too much to look him in the eyes right this second. There was too much warmth unfurling in his own heart for Darby to do anything other to lie there probably too stiffly.

"Happy now, Mox?"

His voice was more irritable than Darby expected it to be. He wasn't _as_ upset as he sounded - just overwhelmed. 

"Yep."

One of Mox's hands travelled upward until Darby could feel fingers brushing along his scalp. It was soothing and Darby could feel himself relax that much more with each soft stroke. That weird bubble of tenderness was right there engulfing them and it wasn't that bad. The words had to be said. Mox had to know - needed to hear him say it. 

"Me too."

And somehow, something eased in Mox too - Darby could feel tension he hadn't noticed before disappear in the body beneath him. His fingers started sketching out patterns across the bits of Mox's skin within easy reach. There was a small part of him that wanted Mox to recognize the vaguely possessive nature of the skulls he was drawing. Mostly, though, he wanted it to remain his own little secret. One of Mox's fingers traced along his ear lobe followed by a thumb caressing his cheek and Darby couldn't do anything but press a little closer.

"How are you feeling?"

Lulled back into a state of being half-asleep, the question took Darby by surprise. And he wasn't sure how to answer it. His head and neck still hurt but he didn't necessarily want to tell Mox that. He'd been so protective and worried last night and Darby didn't quite want such things bothering them right now. 

"Not dead." Mox's grumble echoed underneath him. "Kinda hungry, though."

He was starting to get hungry so it wasn't exactly a lie. Just a non-answer.

"We should go to a diner. Get some coffee and bacon. Maybe eggs." We? The single word had Darby's brain spinning. Mox's assumption that they would be going to breakfast together. It wasn't… bad. It made _sense_ like everything else between them had. "How do you like your bacon? I bet you're a crispy bacon guy."

He was, actually. 

"Extra, extra crispy."

It was different lying like this and being able to feel Mox laugh. Darby had to admit that he somewhat liked it. 

"Donuts. We could get donuts."

Darby wasn't the biggest fan of donuts but Mox sounded almost gleeful at the very idea of having donuts for breakfast that he figured that it would probably be okay. A donut shop had to have coffee, at any rate. 

"They make bacon-covered donuts, you know."

Mox's hands stilled almost instantly and for a moment, Darby worried that he had managed to say something completely wrong. But then he was being rolled onto his back and Mox was propped up above him, looking just delighted. He had put that smile there and Darby was oddly proud of that fact.

"Now you're speaking my language."

It should be bothering him that he was pinned down like this. Trapped. But it didn't feel like that. Darby felt surrounded but in a good way and he had no desire to move away.

"I thought you spoke the language of violence."

That revealed more of his awareness of Mox's matches and promos than he should have wanted it to but Darby had a hard time regretting his words when the smile on Mox's face transformed into something almost absurdly fond.

"And bacon. Violence and bacon."

There wasn't anything else Darby could do but reach for Mox's face with both hands and pull him down for a kiss. It didn't taste that great - morning breath was a real thing - but it didn't really matter with the way their mouths moved against one another. Mox really was _that_ good of a kisser. He wasn't going to tell him that - Darby wondered how long he could goad Mox with that one - but he really was. Or maybe they were that good at kissing each other. When they pulled apart, Mox rested his forehead against his for a few breaths and that was almost as good as the kissing. 

Almost.

There was a smirk on Mox's face that made Darby's heart start to race but he was quicker and pulled Mox closer. They were both laughing as their lips touched and Darby knew they were done discussing breakfast for now. They'd get around to it.

Eventually.

-fin-


End file.
